Page 48

JEN

I SAT ONthe bench, stunned into silence by his words. My stomach felt like it had dropped into my feet, and I couldn’t count how many beats my heart might have skipped. Somewhere in the house, a clock struck the hour of ten. Every chime sounded like a countdown to some kind of implosion.

It came on a string of softly mumbled curses and a fist hitting the polished black wood, over and over as if trying to beat back the demons that so obviously still tortured him.

I stood so swiftly the bench clattered backward, but Tyler didn’t even seem to notice the noise. I hurried the few steps to him, tentatively reaching my hand for his shoulder. He instantly stilled. Suddenly he grasped me around my waist and lifted me to sit on the piano. His arms wrapped around my waist as he buried his head in my lap.

“I wish I’d never said those words to her. They were the last ones she heard from me.”

I ran my fingers anywhere I could reach, through his hair, up and down his back. Poor Tyler. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to have the last words you ever said to someone be in anger, even if it was just in the heat of a frustrated moment. “What happened to her?”

He lifted his head and the sadness that dulled his normally warm brown eyes brought tears to my own. “Mom had been suffering from lots of headaches, some really bad. We thought it was just tension; there was the upcoming concert for me, she was trying to get her job back with the symphony now that I was old enough to be on my own, which in turn caused more stress between her and my dad. She should have gone to a doctor. But she waved it off, saying she would once the concert was over. Unknown to all of us, she had a brain aneurysm, and that day, that awful day when I said such terrible things to her, was the day it burst.”

“Oh, Tyler,” I shook my head, "you couldn’t have known that would happen! No one could have.”

“But her last thoughts of me must have been angry ones . . . and I was the source of it.” His voice was raw as his hands tightened on my waist.

I drew his head up so I could look into his face. “Tyler, listen to me. From everything you’ve described to me your mother loved you, and a mother’s love is very powerful and very forgiving. You can’t erase all the happiness, all the love you shared in one brief moment with just a few words. You have to hold on to the good memories.”

“But–“

I sensed his guilt, no matter that it was misplaced, and racked my brain for what to say. “Tyler, what were you going to tell your mom that day when you came back into the room?” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “I came back to tell her I was sorry for yelling and for being such a little ass, and to explain more calmly how I felt about losing the passion for music,” he whispered.

“And you don’t think she knew that was the kind of son she had raised?” I spoke the words urgently. I was determined to wean him from his notion that his mother only felt let down by him. “She knew those words were spoken in anger and passion, but not a reflection of how you felt about her. She was your mother, Tyler, the one who loved you so much she quit her job to be with you.”

“All the more reason I should have been more grateful to her.”

“No, Tyler!” Exasperated, I threw my hands in the air before grabbing his shoulders and giving him a shake, not easy to do with a man who outweighed me by at least sixty pounds. “You deserved to choose your own path in life, just as she chose hers. Leaving the symphony was her choice, just as choosing medicine was yours. You aren’t responsible for her decision or anything that came along with it.”

The tight grip at my waist relaxed. “Do you really believe that?” he whispered.

I nodded vehemently and gentled my tone. “What do you think your mother would say to you if she were here right now, listening to everything you just said to me? Not what she would have said at that exact moment, but here, now, knowing how you feel.”

The room was completely silent as I held my breath waiting for his answer. The air conditioning cycled off, no cars drove down the street, the birds paused their chirping—all giving him the space to remember his mother, truly remember the entire woman, not just the one from those last moments he focused on. I watched him bite his lip, and I could feel how tense his muscles were beneath my hands as he struggled with my question. I hoped I understood this woman I would never meet, but sitting here in her parent’s house, knowing how warm and supportive it had been from Tyler’s description and knowing her willingness to give up so much for her baby, I suspected there was more to her than just music. Tyler just needed to remember that, too.

His gaze grew thoughtful. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he relaxed when he finally answered. “She would have said, ‘Tyler, life isn’t just for existing. It’s about passion. For some it’s notes on a page, for some it’s colors on canvas or words on paper. And for others it’s a gift for teaching or healing or inventing. But whatever it is, whatever you do, use your passion to be the best you can be.’” He stared in amazement at me. “My mom used to say those words to me whenever I would complain about my dad never being home or about practicing my music. Maybe you’re right. Maybe she would have understood me.”

I smiled. “See? It might have taken some time for her to adjust, but she understood there was a world out there beyond music. That’s just where her passion and talent was. And for a long time, you let her enjoy her passion through you. If she had lived, I’m sure you would have found a way to balance both. Not wanting to be a career musician doesn’t take away your love for music. You’ll always have that with her.”

“You have amazing insight, you know that, right?” From my height advantage on top of the piano, he had to tilt his head to look up at me.

“I’m just able to look at it from a different point of view,” I answered, relieved to see the warm light back in his whiskey brown eyes.

“Can I play a song for you?” Tyler asked, sounding uncharacteristically shy.

I ran my fingers through his hair and down his face as he looked at me with such tenderness my pulse sped up. Knowing those words represented a gift beyond just the music, I smiled at him, hoping I could convey my understanding. “Only if you’re ready.”

He captured my hand and kissed the back of it. “Because of you, Jen, I’m ready.” He assisted me down from my perch, righted the bench and drew me down to sit beside him. “If I can remember it, this was my mother’s favorite song to play. I’m not as good as her, but I hope somewhere she’ll know it’s for her.”

He lifted the lid and ran a few scales. It was as if he had never taken such a long break from playing; his fingers remembered exactly which keys to play and how to do what looked like tricky little finger crossovers. He played a few measures as if trying to make sure he could recall the notes. Then he began to play a piece that started off slow and haunting, building into something much livelier halfway through until his finger fairly flew along the keys, utilizing the entire keyboard. The melody sounded slightly familiar, although as much as I hated to admit it, I think I’d heard it on a cartoon. After getting jabbed by his elbow more than once, I moved off the bench and leaned against one of the curves of the instrument. I don’t think he even noticed, lost in the music as his fingers flew back and forth and over top of each other, sometimes so fast I had no idea how he could even be sure where they would land. Finally, the piece drew to a close. Tyler withdrew his hands and rested them in his lap. I made no comment, sensing he was still lost in another world. I held my breath, hoping he didn’t regret his return to music and tribute to his mother.

He squeezed his knees and rubbed his palms along his thighs. He blew out a long breath and glanced at me, uncertainty etched in the creases around his eyes.

“Holy crap! I’m completely blown away,” I exclaimed. A smile lit up his face at my praise. “I can’t believe you remembered how to play all those notes! What is it called, anyway?”

“Hungarian Rhapsody by Franz Liszt. I guess it came back because I practiced it over and over for a couple years. It just becomes automatic, I guess. And it helps that I have a photographic memory. Guess that sort of helped the nerd image, too, huh?”

I left my post by the side of the piano and somewhat awkwardly straddled his lap so that my back was to the keys and my legs hung over the back of the bench. I clutched his shoulders for balance. Tyler’s eyes flared as his hands gripped my waist. “Well, you’re definitely the sexiest nerd I’ve ever known,” I teased. “And now I can see why your mom was afraid of you breaking your very talented fingers.”